by Nancy Radke
“But he lives in Wisconsin. That’s so far away.”
“So what? Don’t forget ‘Sleepless in Seattle.’” Chantal paused dramatically. “It could happen to you.”
“Where was Meg Ryan supposed to be living? New York?” Alison said, feeling sarcastic.
“Wisconsin’s closer. Now make that call.”
Alison smiled at her friend, picked up the phone, and dialed. Chantal’s good humor always helped to set her world straight.
“Hello.”
Logan’s voice. Her mind froze. Oh no! What next?
“Hello,” she said, choking on the word. She pulled the receiver away from her ear. All she could say was hello.
“Alison?” She could hear the excitement rising in his voice and took heart.
“Yes.” Alison took a deep breath. Chantal had her head two inches from her, listening. Her presence helped, and Alison plunged forward. “Uh...I realized...I...uh... couldn’t wait for you to call...and I... uh, did want to talk to you again.” There! It wasn’t so hard after all. Almost impossible. She’d sounded like an idiot.
“I’m glad. I felt like...I thought I might have said something that offended you. I was afraid I would never hear from you.” His low-pitched tones erased some of her nervousness.
“No...no. You didn’t offend me. I just...just don’t usually, uh...” She stopped, unable to think of how to express her feelings.
“I wasn’t trying to pick you up, you know. But, well, I was leaving, and I did want to get back in touch with you.”
Chantal gave Alison a big grin and a thumb’s up sign, then moved away to finish making their salad. Alison smiled back, relief sweeping over her.
“I realize that,” she said, then wondered what to say next. “I knew you couldn’t call, so decided I had better.” She was repeating herself.
“Thank you. I wished you would call, but wasn’t giving myself much hope.” He sounded happy.
“I didn’t know if I would catch you home...”
“You didn’t. I’m on the road right now, which is why I gave you my cell phone number.”
“The area code is east Tennessee.” She had looked it up, trying to find out where in Wisconsin he lived. It had been one more barrier to her calling.
“One of the places I’ve lived. I didn’t bother to change it after I left.”
What to say? She wanted to ask him if he would be coming out in the near future, but shied away from it, not wanting to appear “pushy.” She knew lots of women called men and even asked for dates, but that was not her. “What..uh, what do you do?”
“I’m a welder. I told you.”
“Oh, yes. And you have to travel for that?”
“I go where the jobs are.”
So enigmatic. Couldn’t he at least give her more information? “I see. Don’t you have a permanent address?”
“Sort of. Michigan. But I’m pretty much living out of a suitcase.”
“So... where are you right now?”
“Halfway between Fort Worth and Dallas.”
“And they had a job for you?”
“Lots of action down here.”
“Oh.”
“Could I get your phone number, so I could call you? Or your email address?” he asked.
“I’ll think about it. I don’t like men calling me. They usually don’t know when to stop.” She still felt there was something wrong. Perhaps it was the way he sidestepped a direct answer. Was he a traveling salesman?
He cleared his throat. “Could I come by when I’m in Seattle next time?” He sounded hopeful. Still uncertain, she didn’t feel like encouraging him. Not yet.
“When would that be?”
“Whenever I can make it. I’m on a tight schedule. Maybe on a Tuesday.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Please. Do that.” It wasn’t a beg, she didn’t want him to do that, but he did sound sort of desperate.
“I don’t usually call men.”
“Even if they ask you to?”
She hesitated, wondering what to say to that. She usually told men ‘No.’ But Ryan’s remarks had made her wonder about the way she treated the male gender. Maybe she shouldn’t be so cautious.
He waited a second, then when she remained silent, said, “Please? Call again. Promise? Or else give me your number so I can call.”
“All right. I’ll call.” Once her mind was made up, it seemed easier. Besides he had asked her twice now.
“Soon?”
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow?”
She laughed at his persistence. “I’ll see.”
“I’ll look forward to it. You called my cell number.” He then gave her his home number, just in case his cell was off. “Thanks for calling.”
“You’re welcome. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
Alison hung up and looked at Chantal. “He wants me to call again.”
“Wonderful!”
“Maybe. I don’t know much more about him than when I started.”
“Were does he live?”
“He said, ‘Michigan.’ But he also said, ‘Out of a suitcase.’”
“So what are you going to do next?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned as she considered the conversation they’d just had. “He said he was between Ft. Worth and Dallas, but you know, with a cell phone number, he could be anywhere. Even next door.” What was she getting herself into?
“True. Keep calling him until you learn some of those things. And sign up for one of those long distance plans if you don’t already have one.”
“Let me know how much this was so I can pay.”
“Nothing doing. This was my treat. Why don’t you rescue the spaghetti and we’ll eat. Then you can tell me more about Logan.”
“That was Alison?” Jake asked. Since he was sitting next to Logan in the team’s airplane he had heard some of the conversation. He had been talking to one of the other players, but stopped to listen soon after Logan answered.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“How did you know it was her?” Logan had talked as quietly as he could.
“We’ve been friends for a long time, Josh. You have never jumped to answer the phone like you have these past few days. Besides, you have a completely idiotic look on your face right now. I wouldn’t let the other players see it.”
Can’t let that happen. Logan ducked his head as he worked on straightening out his expression. “This one’s important, Jake. She’s not going to be easy to get to know. I want your word again that you won’t pull any jokes on her. I don’t think she would understand.”
“Doesn’t she have a sense of humor?”
“That’s not it. She’s really cautious.” He continued on, describing his conversation with Alison. “I figured she wouldn’t call and was trying to think of some logical way to see her again.” He was so happy that she’d called him, he could feel the idiotic grin spread over his face again. Now Clark, one of the tailbacks, was looking over at him, puzzled. He ducked again, trying to relax his facial muscles. It wasn’t working.
“Does she know you know where she lives?” Jake asked.
“No.”
“You’ll need to tell her. She won’t be too happy if you show up on her doorstep unannounced. You also need to tell her what you do, so you don’t have to avoid the subject.”
Logan winced. “Then she’d probably never see me again.”
“Tell her about your other work first. With the kids. That’ll help your image. She’ll feel she knows something positive about you.”
“True. She’s going to call tomorrow. I think. I hope.”
“You gave her our home phone number?” Jake laughed for some reason.
“Yes.” What did Jake think was so funny?
“In that case...good luck. You’ll need it, if she’s as skittish as you claim. Talk about luck, this time bad, Coach Dobb just told me that Mark Volt was injured yesterday.”
&nb
sp; “Seattle’s star running back?”
“Yes. He swerved to miss a crate that fell off the back of a truck. Crashed into a tree. I guess if he had missed the tree, he’d have gone over a twenty-foot embankment. A car was following him, saw it happen and called 911. They’re still looking for the truck driver. He probably didn’t even know the crate was missing until he went to unload it.”
Afterward, Alison was glad she’d phoned. During the following days she tried several times unsuccessfully to catch him. When she couldn’t reach him on his cell phone, she tried his home phone number.
She got a message that said she had reached Jake’s Pizza Parlor. She checked the number and redialed. Same voice, same message. She didn’t recognize the voice. She knew it wasn’t Logan’s. She must have written it down wrong.
She tried the cell phone again. This time she got an answering machine, so she mentioned she had tried to call him. But she still wasn’t ready to give him her number, so she said she would try again later.
Labor Day weekend came, the last day for Seattle’s Bumbershoot Film Festival. A glorious day in September, the sun shining hot in hazy blue skies, the air still, but not oppressive; filled with the energetic sounds of lawnmower engines, barking dogs, and children playing in neighborhood yards.
Unwilling to waste the long, cool twilight hours, Alison put on dark green sweats and a cropped cotton top, grabbed her can of Mace and went jogging around the lake.
She had been interpreting for a professional woman off and on all weekend at the film festival, and her mind and fingers were both aching. It had been fun, but her job was finished and there was still light enough to run.
Several other joggers had waited for the cool of the evening before starting and Alison joined the last stragglers on the dirt track, putting her water bottle down on a bench.
The path circled the lake in a wide loop and was marked off by distance so the joggers could tell how many miles they ran. There were exercise stations along the way with instructions for use. It was a popular place and she passed or was passed by several according to speed.
It had been a hot, dry summer, with rainless days following rainless days. The tourist industry jumped for joy and sales rose in the entire area. The only adverse consequence was that water rationing was in effect, something fairly unusual in the Seattle region. The park grass had been left unwatered so large brown patches were prominent over much of the area. The running track was covered with a fine powdered dust that shot up in small puffs each time Alison’s foot went down.
Stride, stride, stride, stride...she loved to run, relaxed and easy, breathing deeply in the warm pine-scented air. Her new job with the high school student meant her afternoons and evenings would be free. She could consider joining one of the women’s soccer teams in the area. Playing soccer at Green Lake would give her plenty of exercise while she was having fun. It was a perfect way to relax after the mental strain of interpreting for several hours. The running required—jogging, sprinting full out, then jogging again—was an excellent conditioner.
Her right leg cramped suddenly and Alison slowed to a limping walk. She should have carried her water bottle. She was now at the far side of the loop, in the part where there was the most foliage, so she moved over onto the shady side of the track.
John, one of the joggers from her building, slowed to ask if she was all right and she nodded, waving him on.
It was going to take awhile to walk back.
Five minutes later she heard other footsteps, very close, and glanced over her shoulder to see who it was.
A man was running toward her and she started to dismiss him until she realized he was wearing tan slacks and a light cream sports shirt, regular street shoes. Dark glasses. No one from around here—and not dressed for running.
Being the type of person who left her seat belt fastened the entire trip in a airplane, Alison believe in planning ahead, so she got her can of Mace positioned correctly in her hand, just in case.
If the man kept on running, fine. If not, she was prepared.
She took a few more steps, stiffening when she heard the runner slow as he came up behind her. She glanced down at the can to make sure she was holding it correctly, her finger on the button.
“Hello.”
4
Startled to hear Logan’s voice, Alison spun around. Her fingers tightened automatically on the can and the arc of the spray hit him directly in the face before she released the button.
“Alison!”
“Logan?”
He pulled off the concealing glasses, wiping his face with his hands. “Ow! Man, wha... what... what did you do that for?”
Her heart was still hammering from the suddenness of his appearance, and she stepped backwards a pace. “How did you find me?” she demanded, not bothering to answer his question.
“You said you lived near Lyon’s Lake.”
“That wasn’t enough—”
He sniffed, tears running down his eyes. “I searched around for your car.”
“It was that easy?”
“No. I was looking for a dented bumper.”
“I had it fixed. I couldn’t get the trunk open, the way it was.”
He shrugged. “Anyway, when I knocked on your door, one of the returning joggers mentioned you were out here.”
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I guess not.” He was still wiping his eyes, the tears running freely. “Wow, that stings. I don’t usually get that reaction from a woman.”
Probably not, Alison thought. If his dark glasses hadn’t hidden his identity so well, she would have recognized him at first glance and not readied the Mace. Maybe.
She put the can in her pocket. “It was an accident. I had my finger on the button.”
“You want to put your finger next to the button. Like on a gun, alongside the trigger guard.”
“Okay.”
“Next time I’ll make sure I advertise first. From a distance. I’ll stay away until I get an ‘All clear’ sign.”
Next time. That meant she hadn’t completely botched things by Macing him. Good.
“I was going to wait for you at the benches, but the last runner in said you had pulled up with a leg cramp. I thought I’d come, see if you needed help.” He held up her water bottle.
“Thanks.” She took the bottle from him. “It’s not that bad.”
“You’re limping.”
“I’m trying to walk it off.” She took a drink, paused, drank some more.
He blinked his eyes a few more times, then looked seriously at her. “I had to come. One of my friends put a Pizza message on my answering machine. I assume you heard it.”
“Was that what happened?” So Logan hadn’t been trying to discourage her, after all. The information erased over a week’s worth of frustration, anger, and bewilderment. She felt a sudden rush of joy that he had gone to so much trouble to contact her again.
“He apologized, but it was too late. I could have throttled him.”
“I could, too. That was a very costly prank, because I did throw your number away. This morning. It’s still in the basket.”
“I was afraid you’d never call again. So I flew out.”
“I’m impressed. That’s quite a ways to come, with just the name Lyon’s Lake to go by.”
“I almost gave up. Then I thought to ask about an interpreter, and some children pointed out your apartment.”
Alison smiled, happy at last. She knew which children he referred to. They were always wanting her to teach them more signs.
“I’m glad I mentioned the lake,” she said.
“Me too. Or I’d still be sweating by the phone.”
“You didn’t actually sweat, did you?” she teased.
“Near enough.”
A group of three joggers approached and she and Logan moved to the edge to let them pass more easily.
“You’re still limping,” Logan said, hastily thrusting his dark glasses back on. “Do y
ou want me to fix that?”
“Uh, no. Thanks. It’ll be all right after I walk it some.” The muscle had been getting tighter all the time, and her two quick steps backwards had not helped any.
“It looks uncomfortable. I can put some pressure on it,” he offered. “It’ll just take a moment, and should release the cramp. Make it feel better.”
Another jogger was approaching, then two more behind him. Their presence was reassuring, and Alison said, “Thanks. It might help.”
“No problem. I know what I’m doing. It will hurt for a moment, but the spasm will go away. Sit down over there.”
He pointed towards one of the wooden exercise stations—two log poles buried and cut off a few feet above the ground at two different heights so a person could easily step up and down.
It made a handy chair and she sat on one of the logs as he knelt in front of her, his head a few feet from her knee, pressing strong fingers on the tight calf muscle. He wore a Rolex on his left wrist, Alison noted, and a large gold ring on his right hand that looked like it might be a school ring, or a sports ring of some sort.
She gasped when he first put pressure on the spasmed area, but as the muscle relaxed, the pain lessened.
“There. See it doesn’t take much,” he announced, looking upward with a satisfied smile. He gently kneaded the muscle for a few seconds longer, then asked. “Feel better?”
“Yes. A lot. Are you a doctor as well as a welder?”
He laughed, a short quick laugh as he rose and helped her stand. “No, but I’ve had enough doctors working on me to learn a few tricks.”
His hands were recently scraped in several places and badly bruised. And the bridge of his nose had a dark abrasion that was just starting to heal. Had he done that welding?
“What kind of things do you weld?”
“Depends upon the job. All sorts of things. Is the school nearby, where you work?”
“Sort of. This fall I’ll be at Ballard High School.” He was quick to change the subject, but she decided to try to find out once more what he did. “Do you work at the shipyards, welding ships?” Maybe he’d fallen a few times and needed doctor’s care.
“No. Your leg should be okay now; a slow walk won’t hurt it. Did you ever run track?”
